Camp Christmas
by thezombiecoma
Summary: A Sarkney ficathon assignment. Requirements included: Sark takes Sydney captive but she turns the tables, dancing. No Sydney moping over Vaughn, fluff, character death.


Title: Camp Christmas

Disclaimer: Sark and Syd aren't mine. But if they were, I'd have them hanging from marionette strings while I yelled, "Dance, puppets, DANCE"

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Author's Note: For the June 2004 'Sarkney Ficathon' assignment. Requirements included: Sark takes Sydney captive but she turns the tables, dancing. No Sydney moping over Vaughn, fluff, character death.

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CAMP CHRISTMAS

"Sydney. My name is SYDNEY… say it!" Teeth bared, Sydney Bristow was enjoying being on top for once. She sat on Mr. Sark's stomach, her hands pinning his arms down.

"Sydney." Sark wanted to laugh, but he didn't want to make her any angrier then she already was. He kept a straight face. "Are you sure you don't prefer 'Miss Bristow'?"

Sydney resisted the urge to punch him in the head. She was sick and tired of his word games. Every time they met, he would be as condescending as possible, all the while pointing out her mistakes. Just once, she wanted to make him feel as dumb as he often made her feel.

"The next time you call me Miss Bristow, you'd better hope that you aren't in arms reach." Standing in one smooth motion, she moved away before he had the chance to get his footing. "Thank you for your time… Julian."

Giggling, she ran. He chased after her as she knew he would. Racing around the back of the bunkhouse, she ran full tilt for the lake. Not risking looking back, she reached the end of the dock and jumped.

Surfacing, she swam as hard as she could for the tiny island in the center of the lake. Something grabbed her by the ankle and she got one good shriek in before falling below the level of the water. She kicked as hard as she could, her right foot connecting with what she assumed was Julian Sark's hard head.

Lungs bursting, she broke the surface and changed direction. She couldn't see Sark, but if he assumed she was still heading for the island, then she wanted to trip him up. Looking closer, she saw his blonde head moving in the direction of said island.

Placing her hands flat on the edge of the dock, she hauled herself up. Looking back, she saw Sark reach the sand on the other side. Running as fast as she could in her waterlogged Keds™, she hustled back to her bunk. By the time Sark realized she wasn't hiding on the island, she'd be long gone.

Twenty minutes later as she was enjoying a lemonade inside the chow hall, in walked Sark. He hadn't changed yet, and his expression was unreadable. She stood as he approached and raised one eyebrow.

"Touche, Miss Bristow," he said with amusement.

She smiled, and let the title pass. Just this once. The trick she had played HAD been on the evil side.

"Are you going to go get ready for the bonfire? It's our last night here." She hoped that he would be attending and that he wasn't too angry with her for playing her prank.

"I'll change and be right there."

As Sydney watched him walk away, she had the feeling that she'd known him for the longest time though their time at camp had been three weeks.

Later at the bonfire, Sydney sat on a log, gazing into the fire. She felt Sark before she saw him.

"Sydney, come on." Pulling her to her feet, Sark waited the briefest moment and then, as the other campers began singing, he waved his hands in the air and shook his hips in the worst dance that Sydney had ever seen.

"Hello Mother, Hello Father… greetings from Camp… Camp Grenada…"

Laughing, she gave in and did the goofiest dance she could think of. She looked at Sark and smiled. When he grinned back at her, she felt her stomach do a little flip flop. She really wanted to ask her father to let her come back next year. He was always so busy anyway, she didn't doubt he'd relish the thought of sending her off for another three weeks.

Jack Bristow stood unnoticed on the other side of the fire. He shook his head. Erasing his young daughter's memory was getting harder from year to year. He had suspicions that she was retaining something each time. The look she had on her face spoke volumes. Now that she was twelve, this would be her final year. He couldn't risk her ever finding out what he'd done, what "camp" was really all about. Christmas couldn't come soon enough.

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Years later, Sydney couldn't place what it was that made her so angry when Sark taunted her. "Miss Bristow" this and "Miss Bristow" that. Each time he said it, she wanted to remind him that her name was SYDNEY. She wanted to hiss it into his face until he conceded.

Walking away from Sark with the vial for Vaughn, Sydney shook her head. As if she could be that close to him and not break his neck.

Suddenly she stopped and looked back. Sark stood there with a cocky smile on his face. He was humming and it took her a moment to place the song. She'd never been to camp and yet the song seemed so familiar….

She continued walking.


End file.
